The Trouble with Truth
by rose elliott
Summary: Kurt struggles to come to terms with the truth about his past. Warnings - homophobic language and bullying. Spoilers up to and including The Rhodes Not Taken. Work in progress. Disclaimer - I don't own anyone or anything.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

Dawn is breaking outside Lima Memorial Hospital. Inside, in a small clinical room, a man and a woman gaze down at a newborn baby, fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth.

The woman, her face lined with exhaustion, glances up anxiously at the man standing next to her. He stares at the newborn with an expression she can't read.

"I know this is hard for you," she says, following his gaze down to her newborn son, "and I understand that you can't stay; that you can't be here for us."

Tears start to fall down her face but she takes a deep breath, strokes her son's tiny hand for strength and continues, "This was my decision and I always knew what the consequences would be. I'm just so grateful you were here with me for the birth. That I didn't have to go through it alone. I will never forget that and I…" She takes a deep breath once again, steadying herself, "I will always be grateful and I will always love you."

Tears stream down her face and she leaves them unchecked, wondering how it is possible to be so desperately happy and so full of sorrow all at the same time.

A strong hand takes hers and squeezes it gently. She looks up at the man she loves through her tears.

"He's… he's beautiful," the man says, looking from his wife to the small baby sleeping so peacefully. "Perfect. Just like you."

His voice breaks and he reaches down and touches the child's curled fist, which unfurls and grasps his finger with a grip that is surprisingly strong.

The man clears his throat, "I was worried that I wouldn't be able to love him," he says quietly, ashamed.

"And now?" The woman asks him gently.

"I want to try." he replies simply, pulling her into an embrace.

They stand together, staring at the new life in front of them, bittersweet tears running down their faces.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N This is set during The Rhodes Not Taken (although it is likely to go AU at some point). Spoilers up to and including this episode.

**CHAPTER 1**

Sixteen years, two months and twelve days later, Kurt Hummel was having a bad day.

It all started with his daily dumpster dive. Although he was touched that Finn Hudson no longer took part in these ritual humiliations, without his semi-compassionate presence the jocks showed no mercy.

Even before the days when Kurt could tentatively call Finn a friend, the football player had allowed him to remove his more expensive items of clothing before he was dumped in the trash. It was one of the many reasons that Kurt was passionately and hopelessly in love with him.

Now, not only did the jocks show no mercy as far as fashion was concerned, they had added a new dimension to the torture – emptying the trash bags on top of him and then closing the lid, leaving him alone in the dark with only the unidentifiable smells and rapidly expanding damp patches for company. Today was no exception.

Alone in the dark, Kurt fumed silently, waiting for their voices to fade before throwing the lid off and scrambling out of the dumpster to dust himself off and assess the damage.

"Hey, Kurt, you're going to be late for class."

Kurt looked up and raised an eyebrow, "So are you Mr Schue."

"Touché," his teacher grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed, "see you in second period."

Kurt didn't bother to reply as his attention was drawn to the cloying orange substance that was stuck fast to the sleeve of his beige check jacket. It was the Versace investment piece that he had, after months of uncharacteristic begging, persuaded his Dad to get him for his birthday.

Kurt had always believed that crimes against fashion should be punishable by law and that the destruction of high fashion by trash-juice should be up there with first degree murder.

He sighed and allowed himself a few moments of self-pity before taking his jacket off and heading for his locker, head held high.

Kurt was used to being an outsider. He had felt like one for as long as he could remember. He coped with it by fantasising about the future, when he would be far away and busy being fabulous, while the jerks that had made his life a misery for the past 10 years would still be in Lima, frittering their pathetic little lives away.

Kurt was special, he was almost sure of it, and one day he knew with almost-certainty that he would be appreciated and revered. It was what helped carry him through each day.

Still, although he no longer found the constant bullying as soul destroying as he once had, he couldn't deny that it was inconvenient, not to mention expensive. Once again his thoughts were drawn to his jacket, once proud and fabulous, now crumpled and smelly, hidden in the darkness of his locker…

"Kurt! Earth to Kurt…"

Kurt blinked, "huh?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes, "Please don't tell me I've spent the last ten minutes talking to myself."

"Oh, sorry, guess I'm a little distracted."

"_Distracted_?" Mercedes turned from her locker where she'd been stacking her books and turned to face him, hands on hips. "I was trying to confide in you Kurt. I was trying to tell you about something that's _important_ to me. What is _with_ you today?"

"Nothing is with _me_, Mercedes." He replied, crossing his arms defensively, "If you must know your outfit is giving me a headache. Who wears red with yellow anyway? You're offending my retinas."

He turned his chin away from her, but not before he caught the look of hurt in her eyes.

"You know what Kurt, you can be a real jerk sometimes. You walk around here like you're better then everyone else. Well I've got news for you white boy, you ain't no superstar. You're just a wannabe like the rest of us."

Kurt, looked at her, his eyes narrowed, "Well at least I don't look like I've just finished working the night shift at McDonald's."

Mercedes slammed her locker shut, making Kurt jump.

"Well at least _I_ don't look like a snobby little kid. Grow up Kurt, or you're gonna lose the few friends you actually have."

Kurt watched her retreating back trying to figure out what had just happened.

"Awww have baby bear and momma bear had a fight?"

"Who's going to protect you now Hummel?"

"Hey homo, you smell trash?"

Kurt sighed; just when he thought his day couldn't get any worse…

He turned around to face the gang of arm-dragging Neanderthals that called themselves the hockey team.

"Can I help you?" he asked, haughtily.

Karofsky slammed him against the locker and Kurt tried not to flinch.

"You can help us _fag_ by staying in the trash where you belong."

"I'd rather be in the trash then staring at your ugly face," Kurt said, with venom in his voice, "you repulse me Karofsky".

"_I_ repulse _you_?"

Karofsky lashed out with his knee and Kurt found himself on the floor. He was dimly aware of the laughter of the boys around him as he held his stomach, gasping for breath. He looked up to see Karofsky's broad face looking down at him, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"That's just the beginning, fag. You don't belong here. Go find some freak show to run away with."

Kurt struggled into a sitting position and glared at the hockey player who glanced behind him, his expression changing rapidly.

"Hummel what are you doing down there? Here, let me help you up." Karofsky held out his hand and Kurt looked at it stupidly. When he looked up again it wasn't Karofsky looming over him, but Mr Schuester frowning down at him.

"Kurt, what are you doing on the floor? Get up before someone falls over you."

Purposefully ignoring Karofsky's hand he struggled to his feet, using the lockers for support.

"S-sorry Mr Schue." He stammered.

"Later buddy," Karofsky clapped Kurt's shoulder, before leading the others away, making a big show of wiping the hand that had touched the smaller boy's shoulder on his pants, as if it was dirty.

Kurt watched them leave before turning his eyes back to Mr Schuester who was looking at him with concern.

"Are you ok, Kurt? You look kind of pale."

"I'm ok." Kurt said quietly

"Ok, well," his teacher smiled at him, "it's great to see you with friends Kurt. I know it hasn't always been easy for you, and I'm proud of you. See you in practise tomorrow?"

Kurt nodded and tried to smile.

"Great, I've got a surprise for you guys. I know you've all been worried about Invitationals since Rachel quit Glee but I think I've found the answer to our problems!"

"That's great Mr Schue, see you tomorrow." Kurt turned and walked away, trying not to wince at his aching ribs.

Behind him, Will Schuester watched him go, feeling like he'd missed something.

"Hey Will," Emma's voice broke him out of his reverie.

"Em, I was just coming to see you. I need a favor… does the school keep records of old students. Say from 15 years ago?" Will asked.

Emma flushed a little, a look of cultivated uncertainty on her face, trying to look like it would never have crossed her mind to go rooting through the old records to find Will's, and even if she had (out of professional interest of course), she definitely would not have copied his old yearbook picture and hung it up next to her sink at home so that she could gaze at him every time she washed her hands. That would be totally unprofessional and, although she has tried hard to convince herself otherwise, a little sad.

"Um… I'm not sure, maybe. Why?"

Will grinned at her, "I've had an idea that might just save Glee club!"

A/N Kurt's day is about to get worse… A lot worse!


	3. Chapter 2

A/N A huge thank you to Insane Blood Prince, Rose and sare-bear15 – my first ever reviewers! No spoilers in this chapter.

Disclaimer: Alas, I own nothing and nobody.

**Chapter 2**

By the time Burt Hummel got home, Kurt was hurting a little less and smelling a lot better. He had showered, changed and decided to skip homework in favor of an evening full of crappy TV and comfort food – a treat he allowed himself rarely (it played havoc with his complexion).

Burt found his son sprawled on his bed, chin resting on his hands and eyes glued to the screen, an empty carton of frozen yogurt on the floor by his bed. He cleared his throat.

"Son, I need to talk to you."

"Later Dad," Kurt said absently, not looking up, "Oprah's just about to reveal the Nottie to Hottie makeovers to the high school bullies".

When he didn't hear his dad leave, Kurt looked up, meeting Burt's eyes which were sad and bloodshot.

Something cold and heavy made its presence known in the bottom of Kurt's stomach and suddenly he wished he could be anywhere but there in his basement with his broken-looking Dad.

"Did I… did I do something wrong?"

"No son, never." Burt's voice broke and he turned the TV off before sitting down on the edge of Kurt's bed. His son scooted closer and put a tentative hand on his father's arm.

"What's wrong?" Burt looked down at Kurt's hand, and thought how small and pale it looked – how unlike his own large, calloused hands. He blinked hard and took a deep breath.

"Kurt, you know you're the most important thing in my life, right? And I may not always understand you but you make me proud. Every day you make me proud. I could never have wished for a better son. I need to know that you understand that. That you believe me…"

He looked at his son and Kurt tried to nod but his mind was racing so fast that he couldn't be sure he'd moved at all.

"_Please God,"_ he thought, _"please don't let my Dad be sick. I'll do anything. I'll give all my Alexander McQueen sweaters to the homeless man outside the library. I'll marry Rachel. I'll wear socks with sandals every day for the rest of my life. Just let my Dad be ok…"_

"Kurt, are you listening?"

Kurt swallowed and nodded, "Yeah Dad I'm listening. Are you sick?" His voice broke and, to his shame, his eyes filled with tears, "Are you going to die?"

"No! Kurt, no I'm not sick, I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Shit, I'm doing this all wrong. I wish your mother was here. She knew exactly how she wanted to handle this, exactly how she wanted to tell you."

"Tell me what? Dad, please, you're scaring me."

Burt took another deep breath and took Kurt's smaller hands into his own, pretending not to notice that they were trembling.

"Kurt, I love you more than anything. But I'm not your father."

And in that moment, Kurt felt as if the ground beneath him was ripped away and he was freefalling.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Kurt had only a vague memory of the hours following Burt's revelation. He remembered being held as his dad cried and talked, although he couldn't remember what he'd said. And he guessed he must have fallen asleep at some point because suddenly he was alone and it was morning.

And then he was in the dumpster again with little recollection of his journey to school.

As he lay there in the position that he had landed Kurt thought that he should probably get out and go to class, but he couldn't quite find the motivation to move. He felt numb which was weird. Surely he should feel _something _after being told that his whole life, his _whole entire life_, had been a lie.

He lay there in the dark with his eyes closed, trying to conjure up memories of his mom – her smell, the sound of her voice, her soft hand holding his as she sang softly…

"…seriously gay kid, you're starting to freak me out. You gone catatonic or what? Hello? Anyone home?"

Kurt blinked stupidly, suddenly aware of the harsh light stinging his eyes. He squinted up at the face above him.

"Oh. Puck."

"Finally, it speaks," Puck muttered. "So what are you doing in there? Class started 20 minutes ago. You need help getting out?" The older boy held out his hand. Kurt stared at it.

"No." He replied.

"No? You mean you want to stay in there? You turning into Oscar from Sesame Street or something?" Puck smirked.

"Yes." Kurt replied in a small voice, "Now will you please leave me alone."

Kurt sighed in relief as Puck's face disappeared from view. His relief was short-lived as there was a blur of movement above him and suddenly Puck was sprawled out next to him.

Kurt yelped in surprise. The older boy grinned, "Whoa Hummel, you even scream like a girl." He arranged his limbs into a more comfortable position, "So what's up?"

"What do you care?" Kurt sniffed, "You've thrown me in here enough times."

"Yeah, well. That was different."

"How?" Kurt asked with narrowed eyes.

"Well," Puck looked vaguely uncomfortable, "it's no fun if you actually _want_ to be in here. Besides, that was before football and Glee and stuff. I'm not such a dick anymore."

"I beg to differ." Kurt replied sniffily, struggling to move further away from Puck, who was taking up an unreasonable amount of room in his dumpster. "Now please go away."

"Not until you tell me what you're doing in the trash." The older boy replied, stretching himself out in the extra room Kurt had provided and making himself comfortable.

Kurt glared at him, "If you must know I don't feel like going to go to class today." He paused, and looked down at his hands. "Don't ask me to explain it any further, please. I just want to be alone for a while. Is that so hard to understand?" His voice trailed off.

"Ok, you don't want to go to class. I totally get that. But you really thought hiding in the trash was the best way to skip?" Puck launched himself out of the dumpster, landing gracefully on his feet before peering back at Kurt.

"Seriously Hummel, I miss class all the time. You just have to go to the nurse and say you've got… woman's problems or something."

"_Woman's problems_?" Kurt replied, scathingly.

"Or something. She'll believe you, she's not even a real Nurse!" Puck replied, holding his hand out to Kurt. "Santana told me. She used to be a veterinary nurse."

Reluctantly Kurt took his hand and let Puck pull him up, before clambering out of the dumpster and following him into school.

"Hey Mrs T," Puck greeted the school nurse cheerily, "I found Kurt in the parking lot, he's not looking so good. I think he has wom…"

"A headache," Kurt interjected quickly, "and I feel kind of nauseas."

"A headache, huh?" Mrs Taylor guided him gently towards the bed at the back of her office, tipping his chin up gently to get a better look at his face, "Hmmm, you are looking a little green honey. Want me to call your Dad, get him to come pick you up?"

"No!" The school Nurse jumped and Kurt felt himself blushing, embarrassed at how shrill his voice had sounded, "I mean, no thanks Mrs T. I think if I just lie here for a while I'll feel better. I don't want to miss rehearsal tonight."

"Well, if you're sure." She replied, settling him down on the bed. "And how are you today Noah? Myxomatosis all cleared up?"

"Totally." he looked a little shifty, "Gotta go, late for class. See you at rehearsal Kurt."

Kurt closed his eyes, trying hard to recapture the memories he'd been having in the dumpster but, inexplicably, his mind kept wandering back to how weird it was to hear Noah Puckerman call him by name.

A/N This will link back up to The Rhodes Not Taken in the next chapter. Thank you so much to those that reviewed


	5. Chapter 4

A/N Spoilers for The Rhodes Not Taken (including some borrowed dialogue!). Sadly I still own nothing and nobody.

**Chapter 4**

"Guys, I'd like to introduce you to someone special. This is April Rhodes – she's our newest member."

Twelve pairs of eyes focused on the blonde woman standing next to Mr. Schuester.

"Wait, so old people can join Glee club now?" Finn asked, confused.

Usually when Finn Hudson spoke, Kurt would feel sparks firing all over his body, his heart would pound and he would struggle for breath. Today, he noticed with disinterest, he felt nothing at all.

Actually, if he thought about it, he really hadn't felt anything at all since last night, before his dad… Burt… whatever… had dropped the bombshell that had blown Kurt's world as he knew it to bits.

Burt had crushed his son to his chest weeping and Kurt had let himself be held, dry eyed and numb, feeling strangely detached from the situation.

He crossed his legs, and forced himself to tune back into the conversation that was going on around him.

"Who's Rachel?"

"Sh-sh-she's kind of our star."

"Your star, eh?" April smirked, "So where is she?"

"She left," Kurt spoke up, "to be the lead in Cabaret."

"Hey tinkles," April flung her jacket at Will, "give me Maybe This Time in B-flat. And don't let me catch you snoozin'."

_Maybe this time, I'll be lucky  
Maybe this time he'll stay  
Maybe this time, For the first time  
Love won't hurry away_

He will hold me fast  
I'll be home at last  
Not a loser, anymore  
like the last time and the time before

Kurt felt the music wash over him, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

_Everybody loves a winner  
So nobody loved me  
Lady peaceful, lady happy  
that's what I long to be_

Kurt felt tears fill his eyes as the music reached inside him. He was aware of Mercedes beside him, glancing over.

They hadn't spoken since their argument the day before and although she had sat next to him (and there was a seat free right next to Santana), she had angled her body away from him frostily.

_It's gonna happen  
Happen sometime  
Maybe this time  
Maybe this time  
I'll win!_

They sat in stunned silence, April's triumphant final note still echoing round the room. Kurt took the handkerchief out of his pocket, and mopped at his tears, trying to get himself under control, wishing he could feel numb again.

"Dude, are you crying?" Finn asked, coming over to take the seat Mercedes had pointedly vacated after Mr. Schuester had ended the rehearsal. Puck followed behind him looking awkward.

"It was a killer performance, how could anyone fail to be moved." Kurt replied defensively, lifting his chin, "Obviously the rest of you have hearts of stone."

"Uh, ok, whatever." Finn replied, looking confused and a little uncomfortable as Kurt's tears continued to fall.

"Hey drama queen." Kurt looked up to find Mercedes standing next to Puck, hands on hips, "Can I talk to you?"

"Um. Sure." Kurt replied.

"Alone?" She stated, looking pointedly at Finn and Puck, who glanced at each other before making a hasty retreat.

Kurt looked up into Mercedes' eyes and then back down at his hands which were folded in his lap. Her frosty expression softened and she sighed, sitting down in the chair Finn had vacated.

"Just to let you know, I totally haven't forgiven you for yesterday, but," she touched his arm gently, "are you ok?"

Kurt took a shaky breath, "I'm fine Mercedes. And I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. You can rock any look."

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have called you a snobby little kid. And you're no wannabe – you totally out-fabulous the rest of us. Maybe I get a little jealous sometimes." She smiled at him gently and he tried to smile back through his tears.

"Kurt, you look so sad. Was it really just the music?"

"It was the music." He replied, not meeting her eye, "Sorry."

They were both silent for a minute, Kurt looking at his hands, Mercedes looking at Kurt. She covered his hands with hers gently, "Kurt, can we be friends again?" She asked softly.

"I'd like that." He looked at her and his smile felt a little less forced.

"Ok, well, as your friend I gotta tell you, that face is gonna need some serious work before I'm willing to be seen out in public with you." she smiled, before her expression turned more serious. "Also as your friend," she squeezed his hand, "if you need to talk, you know I'm here right?"

Kurt nodded at her shakily.

"Great, well, let's get you to the bathroom and try and do something with those blotches. I hope you got concealer with you boy, 'cause I don't think mine's your shade."

Kurt's smile felt less forced as he stood up and offered her his arm, "You know I never leave the house without concealer."

"Yeah and the rest – I've seen your lip gloss."

"It's not _lip gloss_ Mercedes," Kurt replied, haughtily, "it's Clinique Super-Balm – it's _moisturizing_."

"Clinique super balm in cherry pink!"

And as they left the choir room bickering, Kurt could almost believe that everything was ok.

Kurt sat outside his house in his car. He had been there a while. At first he had convinced himself it was just to hear the end of the song that was playing on the radio so that he could find out who the artist was. It had a great beat that he was sure he could choreograph some killer dance moves to.

And then, like a gift from God, Lady Gaga's new track was playing, and he couldn't possibly turn the radio off while that was playing; that would be bordering on blasphemy.

Forty minutes later, Kurt was sitting in silence, finally admitting to himself that he just didn't want to go inside. Every time he thought about facing his dad, his stomach felt weird and his limbs felt heavy.

So he sat there in his car, slumped down on the expensive leather seats, arms folded, staring out of the window, his eyes unseeing.

"Kurt!" The knocking at the car window heralded Kurt's second undignified yelp of the day, as he was startled from his reverie. Burt's face looked down at him, his brow wrinkled in concern.

Kurt sighed, giving in to the inevitable and getting out of his car to face his dad. Could he even refer to him as his dad anymore? The thought gave him that weird, heavy, spinning feeling again and for a moment he had to grab the car door to steady himself.

"Son, are you ok?" Burt stood next to him, putting his hand on Kurt's brow worriedly. Kurt tried not to flinch away but obviously didn't succeed as he saw the hurt flash across the older man's face.

"I'm fine… dad. Just had a head spin. I didn't have time to eat lunch today."

"You skipped breakfast too." Burt commented, "Well, we'll soon fix that. Dinner's on the table."

"You… cooked?" Kurt asked.

"I cooked! Try not to look so scared." Burt chuckled, "I made lasagna. Even used that low fat plastic stuff you call cheese. C'mon." He put an arm around Kurt and guided him into the house.

Ten minutes later they sat across from each other at the table, a generous portion of slightly charred dinner in front of each of them.

"So, Kurt." Burt cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "I thought we should talk. About what I told you last night. About the truth."

"Really Dad, there's no need." Kurt replied, studying his fork as he pushed his food round his plate.

"I think there is," his father replied firmly. "Your Mom…"

"I really don't want to talk about it." Kurt interrupted, "Please. Nothing's changed, not really. You're still my Dad."

"Really?" Kurt's heart broke to see the hopeful look in Burt's eyes.

"Really. It's fine." He stood up quickly, knocking the table in his haste, "I'm gonna take this downstairs. I've got to rehearse our new dance routine for Glee club." He grabbed his plate and headed downstairs before his father had a chance to reply.

When he had reached the safety of his basement he set his food down and turned on his music, turning the volume up as high as it would go, before collapsing onto his bed and letting the tears fall.

Next chapter will feature drunk!Kurt. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next morning, Kurt arrived at school and checked himself in the mirror before getting out of the car, satisfying himself that there was no evidence of last night's breakdown (getting up an hour earlier to apply those cucumber and green-tea pads had totally been worth it).

He had managed to avoid Burt since dinner the night before, bypassing the kitchen at breakfast and avoiding their usual companionable morning routine by calling out that he had a meeting with Coach Tanaka before school.

Thinking about his father made his head hurt and his heart ache, almost like it did whenever he thought about his Mom.

As he walked towards school he tried running through songs in his head, imagining the orchestration and harmonies. It worked so well that he didn't even realize he was next to the dumpster until Noah Puckerman stepped out from behind it, blocking his path so suddenly that Kurt almost ran right into him.

"Puck. Fantastic." Kurt sighed in defeat, massaging his temple, "Go ahead, let's get this over with." He threw his bag down on the floor, waiting for the inevitable.

"Chill Hummel, I'm not gonna throw you in." Puck reached down to retrieve his bag and handed it back to him. Kurt took the bag and hugged it to his chest, looking up at Puck in confusion.

"I told the rest of the team you have some sort of freakish dumpster fetish and that you liked being tossed in. I think your daily dumpster dives are history."

"Uh… Thanks. I think." Kurt replied, "So, what do you want?"

Puck shoved his hands into his pockets and looked uncomfortable.

"I wanted to…"

"Hey, Kid!" A voice called, interrupting Puck mid-sentence.

Both boys looked up to see April Rhodes, walking towards them, hips swinging and a mischievous look in her eye. "I've got something I wanna show you."

"Watch and learn, Hummel." Puck muttered under his breath. Then, louder, "Sup sweetheart, how can I be of service?" He gave her his most sultry look. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"That's nice Butch but I was talking to the Sundance Kid here." She pinched Kurt's cheek and he cringed. "Follow me, kid, I've got something to show ya and I think you'll like it."

Kurt looked at Puck, who smirked at the fear in his eyes. Puck shrugged, "Guess I'll see ya later Hummel."

"And I'll see _you_ later." April purred at Puck, winking at him before taking Kurt's arm and guiding him toward the school.

"So, what did you want to show me Ms. Rhodes?" Kurt asked, as she guided him to a chair in the deserted choir room.

He watched her, his alarm growing as she went back to look up and down the corridor, before closing the door and returning to the seat next to him.

"Does Mr. Schuester know we're using the choir room?"

"He sure does – this little chat was his idea." She replied, winking.

"Oh." Kurt said, his voice betraying his relief that his teacher was involved in this strange turn of events. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"I want to talk about _you_. I like your style, kid. You remind me of myself. Talented. Sophisticated. Unappreciated in your own time."

"Really?" Kurt asked.

"Oh, sure. And of course there's the fact that you're the best dressed kid in the school. Is that shirt Louis Vuitton?"

Kurt nodded, eyes wide, "You know fashion?

"Do I know fashion? Hell, look at me. I'm Donnatella Versace's secret love child! Now listen kid,"

"Kurt."

"Kurt, right. So, I brought you here to introduce you to a very good friend of mine."

She turned and reached into her bag while Kurt looked on confused.

"Your friend is in your bag? It's not a puppy is it, cause I'm allergic." He backed away from her, suspiciously.

"No, silly!" She said, whipping a flask out of her bag and presenting it to Kurt.

"What is it?" He asked, curious despite himself.

"Only the answer to all of your problems."

"I find that highly doubtful." He replied, taking the cup she passed him and watching her pour out a pale golden liquid. He sniffed it delicately, "Smells like my Aunt Mildred."

"Just drink it." She encouraged, so he took a tentative sip, feeling the liquid burn down his throat and into his stomach.

"Now, a few swigs of that every day before school and you'll have all the courage you need to be yourself." She told him, pinching his cheek.

"Really? That's fantastic." He replied, taking another sip. It really wasn't that bad once you got used to it.

"So is my vintage collection of muscle magazines. Want them?" Kurt nearly choked on his third sip as she held them up to him. "Here, take 'em, they're yours."

"Th-thanks." Kurt stuttered, feeling a little light headed.

"No problem honey, now listen." She moved closer to him, speaking in a hushed tone, "I've given you these 'cause I can tell you're mature enough to appreciate them, not like most of the losers I've seen in this school so far."

Kurt nodded in earnest agreement, clutching the flask and magazines to his chest.

"So, this stays between you and me, right? Our little secret."

"Definitely." Kurt replied, slightly breathlessly, "I'm good at secrets."

"I'm sure you are." She said squeezing his thigh. "Now get to class, and remember, a few sips of that and all your problems will fade away. Trust me, I know."

She winked at him again before getting up and striding out of the room, leaving Kurt feeling slightly dazed, staring down at the magazines in his lap and holding onto the flask so tightly that his knuckles were white.

* * *

Chablis, Kurt thought to himself, was fantastic. Even its _name_ sounded fabulous, ChablisChablisChablis, he could think about it all day. Sure, it had made his eyes water at first, and it was a little sweet, but once you got used to that it was fantastic. Fabulous.

He grinned dreamily to himself, and tried to rest his chin on his hand. Unfortunately, the elbow he was resting on the desk slipped, causing him to fall forward, banging his chin.

"Kurt?" He looked up. Oh. Right. Spanish class. Mr Schuester was raising an eyebrow at him, obviously expecting an answer to something.

"Uh…"

"I said are you ok?" His teacher repeated.

"I'm fantastic." Kurt replied, grinning up at him, dopily. "Fantastically fantastic. This is a great lesson Mr. Schue. You're my favorite teacher by, like, a mile."

"Okaaay." Will replied, over the snickers of Kurt's class mates. "Well if you could at least look like you're paying attention I'd appreciate it." He turned his attention away from Kurt and back to the class, "So, who can tell me how many types of verbs…."

And Kurt let himself drift off again, wondering if his teacher would notice if he took his flask out for another sip.

* * *

Kurt was spinning round and round and round. Or maybe he wasn't and the room was. Either way it was making walking extremely difficult and something that commanded his total concentration.

And then there were words and some of them were his. And then there was more spinning. And then there was nothing.

* * *

"Kurt… Kurt."

"Five more minutes Dad." He muttered, swatting away the hand on his cheek.

"I'm not your Dad, Kurt."

Kurt opened his eyes, blinking up at Mr. Schuester who was standing over him.

"Huh?" Kurt struggled to sit up, and, oh, the spinning was back, and…

"Here." His teacher shoved a bowl in front of him just in time as Kurt emptied the contents of his stomach. Will took the bowl away and handed him a glass of water.

"Where am I? What happened? Am I sick?" Kurt asked, putting a hand up to his head which was pounding.

"What do you remember Kurt?" Mr. Schuester asked, a trace of anger in his voice, which really wasn't fair, Kurt thought, because he felt like he was dying and you weren't really allowed to be angry at sick people.

"Uh…" He tried to cast his mind back but it just made his head pound harder.

"Let me bring you up to speed," Mr. Schuester interrupted his train of thought, "Ms. Pilsbury found you wandering the halls smelling like a brewery. You chucked up on her shoes."

"I did?" Kurt cringed.

"You then passed out. Finn Hudson had to carry you here."

He did?

Kurt perked up momentarily at this news, before being hit by the cold reality that his classmate had had to carry him through the halls like a baby. The many and variable dreams he'd had of Finn coming to his rescue had never featured Kurt unconscious and covered in puke. And God only knows what his hair looked like. Kurt groaned.

"Kurt, where did you get this?" Will held up the flask and Kurt groaned again. "This isn't like you Kurt. I'm glad you're friends with the Hockey team now but if they're encouraging you to…"

"I'm not friends with the hockey team." Kurt replied.

"But…"

"It wasn't them. I… I found it. It smelt nice so I decided to keep it."

"You found it." His teacher repeated incredulously.

"Yes." Kurt massaged his temples and laid back down on the bed, "Now please can you leave me to die in peace."

Mr. Schuester sighed and got to his feet. "I've called your Dad, Kurt. He's coming to pick you up."

"No." Kurt groaned.

"You should be grateful it wasn't the ambulance." He paused at the door, "I'm disappointed in you Kurt. We will be speaking about this again when you're feeling better."

And with that, he left, leaving Kurt alone in his misery.

* * *

"Hi there, I've come to pick up my son? Kurt Hummel. I got a call to say he was sick – is he ok?"

"Your son is fine, Mr Hummel. He's been sleeping it off. Mr. Schuester wanted to talk with you before you take him home, let me just give him a call.

Burt stood awkwardly at the desk as the receptionist made a telephone call.

"He'll be right with you sir, if you'd like to take a seat." She gestured to the line of hard, plastic chairs on the wall opposite.

"Can I see my son while I wait?"

"I don't think that's…"

"Mr Hummel." Burt turned, hearing the approaching footsteps. "I'm Will Schuester, Kurt's Spanish teacher."

Burt shook Will's outstretched hand, "You teach Glee too right? My son lives for that club."

"He's a talented kid, we're luck to have him." Will replied, ushering Burt into the office. They sat either side of a small round table. Will clasped his hands together on the desk and looked at Burt seriously, "Mr Hummel, I'm sorry to have to tell you this but Kurt was drunk in school today."

"Drunk? Kurt?" Burt considered this for a moment before shaking his head, "Listen Schuester, my son wont even drink diet coke because of all the additives, there's no way in hell he would touch alcohol."

"He vomited on a teacher and then passed out." Will replied.

"He skipped breakfast." Burt frowned, "Was he wearing that corset thing? Maybe he laced it too tight."

"Mr Hummel, Kurt's breath smelt strongly of alcohol and we found a flask of it in his backpack." Will took pity on him and decided not to mention the vintage muscle magazines that accompanied it.

"Well, where the hell did he get it from?" Burt asked, his voice angry.

"That's what we're trying to figure out." The teacher replied. "Mr. Hummel, Kurt's a good kid. We both know that this isn't like him. Is there anything going on at home? Anything that we should be aware of?"

Burt Hummel slumped down in his chair looking defeated.

"I thought he was doing ok." He said, almost to himself.

"So there is something…"

"Mr. Schuester, I apologize for Kurt's behavior. I understand he will need to be punished for breaking school rules but I would appreciate it if you weren't too hard on him. He's… going through some stuff at the moment. Now," He stood up, "I'd like to see my son.

Will nodded, his brow creased in concern, "I'll take you to him." He said, standing up and leading Burt out of the room. He paused by the door, "Mr. Hummel, I care about your son. If there's anything I can do…"

"Thanks," Burt interrupted, his voice rough. Will nodded and led him toward the nurse's office.

"Kurt, your Dad's come to take you home."

Kurt was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a bowl to his chest as if his life depended on it. He looked up at them as they entered the room, his expression miserable and his pallor tinged with green.

Will helped him to his feet, taking the bowl and supporting him as he swayed slightly.

"Thanks Mr. Schue," Kurt said, his words still slightly slurred, "Sorry for… you know."

"That's ok Kurt. But I want to see you in my office first thing tomorrow morning. We _will_ get to the bottom of this."

Kurt nodded miserably as his Dad guided him from the office and out toward the car. The journey home was passed in silence; Burt fuming silently and trying to decide what his wife would have done in this situation; Kurt desperately trying not to throw up as the car went over bumps and around corners.

They pulled up outside the house and Burt tossed Kurt the house keys. "You have fifteen minutes to clean up and change. You have puke on your shirt and you stink. I am going for a walk to calm down. Then I will come down into your room and you are going to tell me exactly where you got that alcohol from what the hell you were thinking getting drunk at school. Understand?"

Kurt nodded and got out of the car. Burt watched him walk unsteadily into the house, still clutching his stomach. Burt clenched his fists; God help the scumbag that had given his son alcohol if he ever caught up with them.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Burt Hummel descended the stairs and found Kurt dressed in a plain white shirt and jeans, his face pink from scrubbing and his bangs damp.

"Well you look a little better." Burt said, sitting down across from his son in a large white chair. He inhaled, "And you smell a _lot_ better. So now you can tell me exactly what the hell happened today."

Kurt crossed his arms defiantly, "What do you care?"

"I care when I'm called out of work to come and collect my son who has just puked all over the guidance counselor's shoes. I've never been so ashamed of you Kurt."

"Really? What about the time I wore that form fitting sweater on the father-son fishing trip? Or when you found my tiara collection. How about when you caught me showing the guys at work how to do a perfect pliet?"

"That was…"

"You've been ashamed of me my whole _life_," Kurt replied bitterly, "Trying to change me. Punishing me for trying to be who I am…" Kurt replied.

"I never…"

"You grounded me for a _week_ after you caught me kissing my Justin Timberlake Poster."

"But…"

"I was _seven_ Dad, I had no idea what I'd done wrong. Mom would never have done that. _Ever._" Kurt paused, trembling as a rage he didn't know he was capable of coursed through his veins.

"You know what? I'm glad you're not my Dad. And I don't blame Mom for cheating on you."

Suddenly, Kurt was on the floor, dazed and looking up at Burt, who was pale-faced and staring at his clenched fist in shock.

Kurt touched his lip, feeling the sting. He looked down at his blood-tainted fingers.

"Kurt. God, Kurt, I didn't… I'm so sorry, are you ok? Let me take a look…"

"Don't touch me!" Kurt yelled, scrambling away as his father approached him. He clambered to his feet, touching his split lip again. The pain felt good.

"I'm so sorry. Please listen to me." Burt said, desperation in his voice. "I know I'm not your biological father, God knows I wish I was, but that doesn't matter. I've watched you grow Kurt and I'm so, so proud of who you are, who you've become. Son…"

"I'm not your son!" Kurt yelled, backing away, a wild look in his eyes. He reached the wall and stilled. "You know what the hardest thing is? I always knew I wasn't the son you wanted, but I figured that was ok; you had to love me because I was _your son_."

He slowly slid down the wall until he was in a sitting position, looking small and defeated.

"And now I know the truth." He continued, quieter now, "I was just someone else's problem that became your burden."

"Kurt, I love you, please, just let me…"

"I need to be on my own for a while. Please just… leave me alone." Burt looked down at him helplessly. Kurt looked up and met his eye for the first time, "_Leave._"

* * *

A/N Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed, it's a huge incentive to keep on writing.

In response to a review by Anonymous I have now changed the main characters to Burt and Kurt. This is likely to change in the future as Puck becomes more of a major character (but will save Purt fans from disappointment in the meantime!).


	7. Chapter 6

**Warnings: Bullying and homophobic language, minor bullying and angst-overload! Spoilers up to and including The Rhodes Not Taken**

**Chapter 6**

The first thing that Kurt was aware of as he woke up was the relentless pounding in his head. He blinked his eyes open and groaned as the world spun around him for several seconds before coming to an abrupt halt.

The second thing he noticed was that he was on the floor where he must have fallen asleep the night before. His heart sank as the events of the previous day came back to him.

He shrugged off the blanket that covered him (where had that come from?) and stumbled unsteadily to the mirror. He stared at his reflection in an almost disinterested way. His lip was swollen and encrusted with dried blood. His eyes were red and puffy and no amount of concealer was going to cover those bags.

His hair was also a lost cause but then Kurt guessed that was why God invented hats, or, to be more specific, Gucci fedoras.

He dressed quickly on auto-pilot. Fortunately he was so well-practiced at dressing fabulously he could do so instinctively (and if his shirt was un-ironed then he was the only person who would have noticed, and his mind was on other things).

He ascended the stairs, feeling the tension in the house like a physical force pushing his shoulders down and weighing heavily on his heart.

Kurt was both surprised and relieved to find the kitchen deserted. He knew he would have to face his dad at some point but if it could wait until Kurt and his stomach were friends again then that could only be a good thing.

His eyes were drawn to the kitchen table where a dozen or so empty bottles were resting haphazardly. He picked one up and sniffed it, discarding it quickly as his stomach clenched and taking a few deep breaths to bring his nausea back under control.

Beer. It would seem that both surviving Hummels were destined to suffer from

a severe case of "the morning after the night before" today.

Kurt's uneasiness intensified. Burt Hummel liked a few beers in front of the game as much as the next guy but Kurt had never known him to drink more than a couple of bottles.

Kurt wondered again how everything had gotten so surreal so quickly. Despite his dread at facing Mr. Schuester (not to mention Finn, his knight in shining puke-covered armor), he was looking forward to getting to school and back to normality.

Just a few short days ago his house had been the one place Kurt felt truly at home. Truly himself. Now the false normality surrounding Kurt seemed to mock him; how could everything look the exactly same when everything had changed so completely?

Kurt grabbed his messenger bag and left the house, slamming the door loudly behind him.

* * *

"Hey, Hummel."

Kurt was surprised that the main thing he felt as he spied the usual suspects waiting for him by the dumpster was relief – the familiarity of the scene strangely comforting.

Dave Karofsky was flanked by his infamous second in command Sam Anderson and another equally beefy hockey player that Kurt did not know the name of, despite having been manhandled by him on a frequent basis during his trips to the dumpster.

"Woah, what happened to your face?" Karofsky sneered.

"That is none of your business." Kurt replied, facing his adversaries with his chin held high.

"Bet it was a girl." Anderson grinned down at Kurt mockingly.

"Probably a pre-schooler." Karofsky added, smirking.

"Nah, I bet it was his daddy." Their friend snickered, "And who can blame him – I heard he's a hard-ass and it can't be easy having such a pussy for a son."

In a blaze of fury, Kurt flew at his nameless tormentor, striking him hard in the chest so that he fell back against the dumpster, banging his head and looking dazed.

"Woah homo, didn't know you had it in you." Kurt turned around and if he didn't know better he would have sworn he could see a glimmer of respect in Dave Karofsky's flinty eyes.

"Let me pass you ignorant bunch of evolutionary throwbacks." Kurt fumed, his fists clenched.

"Take it easy Shirley Temple." Karofsky put a meaty arm around Kurt's shoulders, grasping him more tightly as Kurt tried to flinch away. He guided him around the back of the dumpster where they were out of sight of the passing students and teachers.

Karofsky let Kurt go and he almost fell over in his haste to put some distance between himself and the hockey player.

Karofsky smirked down at him, "Turns out, you have more balls than we gave you credit for. We heard you got wasted at school yesterday. Chucked your cookies all over Ms. P."

Kurt realized this shouldn't surprise him, the McKinley High gossip grape-vine was notoriously fast-growing, but he cringed nonetheless.

"Truth is Hummel, we're impressed. And we have a proposition for you. A deal."

"A deal?" Kurt repeated doubtfully.

"Yeah, a deal" Anderson replied, a smug smile on his smarmy face, "You know - you scratch our backs, we'll scratch yours."

"Let me save us all some time." Kurt snapped standing his ground as the jocks moved closer, arms folded across his chest, "Aside from the fact that, metaphor or not, the very notion of scratching your backs makes me want to vomit into my Manolos; entering into any sort of deal with you bunch of troglodytes would be akin to selling my soul to sadist who invented polyester underwear."

The three jocks, stared at him, various degrees of confusion on their faces.

"In summary," Kurt said slowly, as if speaking to small children, "the answer is no. Now if you'll excuse me." He tried to push past them but was shoved back and he fell to the ground.

"You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice here, fairy." Karofsky snarled at him. "Here's the deal. You have access to alcohol – we want in. You play nice, we'll leave you and your freak-show buddies alone. No more slushie facials, no more swirlies, no more patriotic wedgies."

Karofsky reached down and pulled Kurt up by the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the side of the dumpster. Kurt tried to turn his head away, his already fragile stomach contracting at the sour stench of the hockey player's breath on his face.

"You say no and we'll make it our personal mission to torture and humiliate every single member of the glee club until they break. That includes Schuester."

"How do you think wheelchair kid would push himself round school if he had no arms as well as no legs?" Anderson asked, a look of false concern on his face.

"And we have extra special plans for your best buddy Jennifer Hudson, right guys?" Karofsky grinned menacingly, his fists still pressing into Kurt's throat.

"Oh yeah," Nameless jerk replied, "That's gonna be fun. They say the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

"You leave her alone." Kurt rasped, "If you touch any one of them I'll…"

"You'll what, twinkle toes?" Krofsky released Kurt who slumped back against the dumpster. Kurt stared up at Karofsky with undisguised hatred in his eyes but he remained silent. Karofsky smirked, "That's what I thought. Here's a list of our demands. You have 24 hours. We'll see you back here same time tomorrow."

Karofsky tossed a piece of paper at him and Kurt watched it drift to the ground as the three jocks left him and headed towards the school buildings.

* * *

Will looked up at the tentative knock, to see Kurt looking pale and miserable at the door.

"Come on in Kurt."

Kurt entered and closed the door behind him before perching gingerly on the edge of the hard, plastic chair in front of Will's desk. Will sighed as he looked at him, shame-faced and pale in front of him, and mentally discarded the furious dressing down he had planned to give his student. "You look terrible, Kurt."

Kurt gave him a sad shadow of a smile, "I'm ok. I'm really sorry about yesterday Mr. Schue."

"I'm sure you are," Will replied sadly, "I never want to see you in that state again, do you understand me? I'm disappointed in you Kurt."

"I'm sorry." Kurt said again in a small voice.

"It's Miss. Pilsbury you need to apologize to," Will replied sternly, "not to mention your fellow Glee club members. Kurt, you know Figgins is looking for any opportunity to finish New Directions. You could have put the whole club in jeopardy."

Kurt's shoulders slumped and Will took pity on him, "Kurt, it's ok, I'm not going to tell him and neither is Miss Pilsbury. But I need to know that this will never happen again. And I need to know where you got that alcohol."

"I told you, I found it." Kurt looked away from his teacher, not meeting his eyes.

Will sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I'm not going to push you for the truth today but I want you to go away and have a good, long think about this. I trust you to make the right decision."

Kurt stood up, still not meeting his teacher's eye, "Can I go now?"

"Yes you can go. Kurt?" Kurt turned, his hand on the door handle. "What happened to your lip?"

Oh. Kurt had forgotten about that. "A door." He replied quickly. "I mean, I walked into one. Must have been the alcohol." He gave an awkward laugh, before turning back towards the door, "See you later Mr. Schue."

As he watched Kurt leave the room sadly, Will had the strangest feeling he was being watched. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and looked around uneasily, before shaking his head and chastising himself for being fanciful.

* * *

In a pot plant on the bookcase, hidden behind the leafy foliage a small, red light blinked on and off.

In the confines of her office Sue Sylvester stared at the screen in front of her a look of malicious triumph in her eyes.

She knew that installing that state of the art surveillance equipment in Schuester's office would pay off, even if she'd had to forgo two botox treatments to pay for it. It was that joke of a Glee club that was causing her to age prematurely anyway and they were going _down_ and taking that freak of nature Will Schuester with them.

Let the games begin.

She picked up the phone and dialed Figgins' number.

* * *

A/N Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Sorry for taking so long to update – I have been having a crisis of confidence. I think I am back on track now for the next chapter at least


End file.
